On a bright, breath-taking afternoon, I, along with my Ma, was bound for Jiaganj, a sleepy, far-away town in the district of Murshidabad in West Bengal. Jiaganj, at that time when the world was young and innocent, was not the thriving town it is today. We were in train on our way to spend my month-long holidays at my eldest sister's place. My eldest sis, Mrs.Tapati Bhatta, was the first-born of late J.C.Bhattacharyya. The excitement and sense of de javu, in the compartment and outside, was almost stifling. I, Swagata, a chit of a boy, was trying to keep count of the number of stations in between Sealdah and Jiaganj, a favourite pastime of ours in those days….
Here comes Plassey, the historic place where the last Nawab of Bengal,. Siraj-ud-daulah, tried to put up a semblance of a fight against the mighty Britiish force led by Robert Clive and got defeated hands down, even before the first shot was fired, due to the ignoble betrayal of his General, Mir Zaffar. With his defeat, the sun of Bengal, nay India, was believed to have gone down. The train rattles on without halting at the station and I sit up knowing that Jiaganj is not a far cry anymore. By the time we arrive at the station, it is almost 10.30 p.m. and pitch dark outside. But that does not dampen our spirit as either Someshda, a family friend or Kaltu, my nephew, would be there to give us a hand with our luggage and escort us whole-heartedly to bhattabari, the permanent residence of the Bhattas.
As we get onto the cycle-rickshaw, I am overcome with a feeling of nostalgia. Notwithstanding the cap around my face and the woollen muffler gifted by my eldest sister a few months earlier, the palpable signs of what is to be a harsh winter, greet us. Pulling the warm clothes tighter, I look around and simply can’t take my eyes off the roadside fields and the ghostly, shadowy trees lined along the way. The vast stretch of paddy fields transports me to the world of Ray’s (Bibhutibhusan Banerjee’s?) immortal, Pather Panchali. Apu, the easy-to-identify-with, little lad of my age at that time, running through similar fields towards the train looming at the horizon.
By then, Phatikda, the family rickshaw-puller, is slowing down as we get closer to the market. At a signal from Ma, I get off the rickshaw near the centrally located mithai (sweets) shop and into it to buy some mouth-watering sweets for my sister and her family. Once I am back in the vehicle, Phatikda starts paddling again and within minutes, a glimpse of the clay lions keeping guard over the gates of Sreepat Singh College, catches my attention in the dim, yellow light. This is the college where my baba, late J.C.Bhattacharyya, started his administrative career as the first Principal of the college.
It was back in the early 50s that he had his first acquaintance with Jiaganj. A person who helped my father a lot to settle down at that time and stood by him through thick and thin, was Mr.Durga Shankar Bhatta (I am sorry about the name again), a local medical practitioner of some repute. Their friendship soon blossomed into relationship, when Durga Shankar, asked, for his second son, Prabha Shankar Bhatta, the hand of Tapati, a lass of ravishing beauty and vitality. Prabha Shankar, my eldest brother-in-law, at that time, was trying to get a foothold as an aspiring lawyer at Lalbagh Court, some 45 minutes distance from Jiaganj, having obtained his LL.B. Degree from Calcutta University earlier. He was a bright, raw talent and despite his initial reluctance to have his daughter married off so early in her life, Baba could not reject the exciting prospect and relented in the end. The marriage that followed afterwards was a grand affair. My eldest sister, Tapati, was barely 16 or 17 at that time. She was considered to be Baba’s lucky charm and proved equally lucky for her new family as the Bhatta Family started thriving after the marriage. Baba, on the other hand, was faced with a series of misfortune that finally ended in his confinement to the easy-chair due to the savage attack of gangrene.
To come back to my eldest sister, Tapati. She was someone, who was meant to have all the stars of the universe and live life to the fullest. She inherited most of her father’s characteristic traits: haunting good-looks, generosity, popularity and her share of misfortune as well. Whoever visited her at Jiaganj, was treated like a prince and his/her stay at her place was nothing short of a feast. She always ensured that her guests had the best of everything, were fed gluttonously and never let anyone go without the parting gift. (It is thanks to my eldest sister and her family that the quality mangoes, litchis, jackfruits and a host of other staff in the markets of Kolkata do not entice me anymore). But what would really stay etched in a visitor’s mind is the eternal picture of my sister with that big, red vermilion mark just beneath the parting of her hair on her forehead, standing teary-eyed near the gate of Bhattabari, waving her final good-bye.
The death in 1997 of her eldest son, Krishna Shankar Bhatta, who happened to be the heart-throb of so many, in the prime of his life, must have been a severe blow to Tapati. Though she,with a smile on her face, gave one the impression of moving on in life afterwards, , she was not the same vivacious lady any more. The smile on her face lost the usual sheen and weary by the weights of the world, she finally passed away at a nursing home some meters away from her ancestral home in Deblane, the home away from home she was equally fond of, in April, 2011. Her world, all her life, revolved around the people she loved – that included, her family, her relatives and even rank outsiders.
In life, she united two great families – The Bhattacharyyas and The Bhattas. In death, though she left both the families tottering, yet with the firm conviction that they will rise above the trials, tribulations and the tests of time.
To be continued ……
No comments:
Post a Comment